A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15) - Louise Penny Page 0,118
words were placed by one dying officer into another.
She watched as Jean-Guy fell, hit in the abdomen, and Armand dragged him to safety, kneeling over him to stanch his wound. Then he headed back into the battle. But before he did, Chief Inspector Gamache bent down and, for all the world to see, kissed the frightened young man on the forehead and whispered, “I love you.”
Words they both must have believed would be the last Jean-Guy Beauvoir would ever hear.
Minutes later, Isabelle was holding Armand’s hand as blood ran from the wounds at his temple and chest, and he whispered to her, barely audible, words he must’ve thought would be his last.
“Reine-Marie.”
Dominica Oddly was shocked by the violence, and even more shocked by the tenderness.
She snapped her laptop shut. And for the first time felt real revulsion for social media.
That would cut, twist, put a lie to the truth.
That would nail decent people to posts.
And then she remembered what she’d just done.
* * *
“What is it?” asked Jean-Guy.
Armand turned his phone around for them to see.
There, beneath the title, “All Truth with Malice in It,” was the story of a man in the remote Québec countryside. An undiscovered but important ceramic artist. Who also happened to be, allegedly, a murderer.
“Merde,” said Jean-Guy as he read.
“How’d you know?” Isabelle asked Gamache.
“If you’re given a lead, don’t you follow it? She’s a critic, but she’s also a journalist and an entrepreneur. And a good one. We handed her a great story. What else was she going to do with it?”
“Be a decent human being?” suggested Isabelle. “Respect Homer Godin’s pain and not promote a murderer.”
“I handed it to her,” said Jean-Guy.
“We all did,” said Armand.
“It’s disgusting, but it won’t harm the case,” said Isabelle.
“What case?” demanded Jean-Guy. “And what’ll Homer make of this? It’s not enough that that asshole Tracey killed his daughter, now he’s profiting from it. Thanks to us.”
“He might not see it,” said Isabelle. “Why would he?”
“Why would we see the video?” said Jean-Guy. “Because people sent us the link.”
“There’s something else,” said Gamache, looking at the two of them. “Something I should have thought about earlier. Vivienne’s dog.”
“Fred?” asked Jean-Guy. “That’s what you’re thinking about?”
“Exactly,” said Armand. “Ruth told Dominica that she never leaves Rosa behind. And we’d never move and leave Henri and Gracie. So why didn’t Vivienne take Fred with her to the bridge? Agent Cloutier told me Vivienne rescued him as a puppy and adored him.”
“Maybe she couldn’t take him with her,” said Isabelle. “Maybe she was going someplace where a dog wasn’t allowed.”
Armand was shaking his head. “She’d never leave him with Carl. She must’ve known what he’d do to Fred.”
“So what’re you saying?” asked Jean-Guy.
“I don’t know,” said Armand slowly.
* * *
As they walked back to the Gamache house, Armand and Jean-Guy noticed that the light was out in Homer’s room. But Reine-Marie was still awake.
Reading in bed and waiting for him, Armand knew.
“Long day,” said Reine-Marie when he finally got into bed. “Bad day.”
“Oui.” No use denying it.
Though the walls of the old home were thick, Armand could still hear Jean-Guy’s voice. He couldn’t make out the exact words, nor did he try. But he knew that he was speaking to Annie. Telling her about the long, bad day. Not hiding anything.
After a few minutes, there was silence, except for Reine-Marie’s steady, deep breathing.
The minutes ticked by. Armand found he couldn’t settle. It was midnight. Then 1:10 a.m. Then 1:35.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
At 2:07 he heard a sound. Movement. Footsteps in the hall outside their room. Then down the stairs.
Armand got up. The room was chilly as the fresh spring air drifted through the open window. The curtains billowing slightly.
Slipping his phone into the pocket of his dressing gown, he stepped out into the hallway. Going carefully, slowly, to the stairs, he looked down and saw Homer by the front door. His coat and boots on.
Homer knelt and said something to Fred, who’d followed him there. Then, kissing the dog on the forehead, he left. Leaving Fred to stare at a closed door.
Armand raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Throwing on his outdoor clothes and grabbing the flashlight, he, too, slipped out.
It was a clear, cold night. Below freezing. The moon was full, and he didn’t need to turn on his flashlight.
Still, it took him a moment to make out Homer, up ahead. Walking up the hill out of Three Pines. His feet crunching on the frozen ground.